


Till You're Walking Beside Me

by MelliaBee



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: "I'll Walk Alone", AU, Artificial Respiration, Domestic Bliss, Drowning, F/M, Happy Ending, Headcanon, Holding Hands, Morning Kisses, Reunions, Short & Sweet, Snippets, Steggy Week 2018, Steggy Week 2k18, Swept Off Your Feet, The Right Partner, Time Travel, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-11 20:42:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15323889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelliaBee/pseuds/MelliaBee
Summary: Seven short sweet snippets written for the Steggy Week 2018 celebration, featuring Captain Rogers and Peggy Carter across time and throughout a handful of different futures. Steve/Peggy-centric, a fair amount of fluff, no smut. This is purely self-indulgent and just for fun.





	1. Headcanon: Holding Hands

**Day One: Headcanon**

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_The first time Steve held Peggy's hand, it was because she'd lost her gloves and her fingers were so cold. He couldn't stand seeing it, so he tried to help her get warm._

_He was expecting a punch in return._

_He didn't expect her to hold his hand back._

_The Commandos always pretend they don't notice anything. Sometimes they really don't, because even though Steve is a horrible actor, Peggy's quite good at pretending she's not holding the captain's hand._

_Colonel Phillips just growls and gives Peggy new gloves. He never seems to notice how often the gloves start "getting lost" after that._

**And because I clearly can't have a headcanon without turning it into a story - here's the companion piece to go with it! I'm sure you won't mind.**

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Steve Rogers didn't get cold anymore. It was nice.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. On a day like this, standing out in the middle of nowhere on a muddy airstrip on a raw, windy day, waiting for their ride, he could certainly feel the chill. But it didn't cut to the bone like it had when he was smaller - and with his big army-issue greatcoat on, it didn't bother him much at all.

No, it wasn't the cold that was bothering him.

It was Agent Carter's hands. Her left hand, to be specific.

She'd lost her gloves at some point over the last couple days. Nobody was sure where. And while she'd been game as anything about it, he knew it wasn't easy, and her hands were paying the price. The right hand still had a pocket to go into, so that was good. But the left hand…

Steve found his eyes drifting to her hand where it hung by her side, next to the shredded pocket that offered absolutely no warmth whatsoever and couldn't be mended. Her fist was tightly clenched, knuckles bone white, reddened fingertips tucked into her palm where they could try to glean a little warmth.

He'd have given her his own gloves days ago, except that he'd already given them to a young mother at that last decimated town they'd passed through. And he couldn't find it in himself to regret that decision, only…

Only Peggy's hand looked so  _cold_.

An extra gust blew the agent's curls nearly on end, and she raised her hand to capture them before they got in her eyes. Her chapped, chilled knuckles cracked at the movement, and by the time she'd got her hair under control again, a trace of blood smeared across the back of her hand,

That was about as much as the captain could stand.

He took two steps forward, drawing even with her. Without looking over, he could feel her quick glance upward at his face before she returned her attention to the western sky, searching for any sign of their ride.

 _Now, Rogers_ , he told himself, and acted.

Very deliberately, and with the most casual air he could possibly conjure up, Steve reached across the couple inches that divided them, wrapped his hand around Peggy's icy fist, and slipped them both into the capacious pocket of his army greatcoat.

Peggy must have jumped six inches. She jerked, startled, trying automatically to reclaim her hand, but he tightened his grip briefly.

If she really wanted him to let her go, he would - but he'd much rather she stay where she was and let him warm up her fingers.

He could feel her eyes on his face again, and gave in to the temptation to look down at her. Her eyes were wide, surprised, shoulders stiff with defensive alarm. Steve prepared himself for a fast right hook - he'd seen what she did to men who made moves on her.

Still, this wasn't supposed to be a move, not like that. This was just - well. Her hand was cold, and he wanted to fix it.

Unexpectedly, the line of Agent Carter's shoulders slowly softened. He couldn't read the gaze that she directed up at him - but after a very long moment, she relaxed and turned back to her vigil, watching for the plane. Her hand stayed in his. Then it loosened, ever so slightly, and turned to let him fit it more comfortably in his own.

Relief and something else thumped hot and hard in the captain's chest, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He scooted just slightly closer until the folds of the coat hanging loosely from his shoulders hid their indiscretion from view. Standing shoulder to shoulder as they were, it would take a close eye to notice they were holding hands. Then he followed her lead, looking up into the sky, though at that moment he wouldn't have noticed a plane if it had been bearing down upon him.

Peggy's hand was quite warm by the time their plane arrived, significantly late and trailing smoke from a shot it had taken. Her cheeks were flushed too - and when she finally withdrew her hand from his, she gave him a grateful nod and a look that sent the blood flooding up his neck and into his ears.

"Much obliged, Captain." The words were formal. The tone of her voice was less so.

Steve shrugged, shuffled his feet. His hand felt cold without hers filling it. "Can't let our best agent get chilblains," he managed at last, and immediately realized it was probably the most prosaic thing he could have said.

It didn't seem to bother her, though. And later, once they'd reached their destination, he found her hand slip into his without warning.

Peggy became much worse at keeping track of her gloves after that.

Steve didn't mind at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I wanted to contribute to the Tumblr Steggy Week 2018 this year, because: 1) I've enjoyed other peoples' contributions, so I feel like I can repay in this way, 2) I have a ton of little snippets of things on my computer that I'll never flesh out but would love to give a home, and 3) I need to get back into a regular writing habit and thought this might be an enjoyable way to do so.
> 
> I don't have a Tumblr account, so if anybody feels inclined to share this story and tag it appropriately so other Steggy Week fans can find it, you have my permission to do so!


	2. Day Two: When Timelines Collide

**Day Two: When Timelines Collide**

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It was only sheer luck that Peggy happened to visit Howard that day. Well, sheer luck and the fact that he had called her fifteen times at her apartment, on the car phone in Jarvis's automobile, and at work.

Finally giving in, she strode into Howard's workshop with decidedly clicking heels. "What…" she started to demand - and then froze.

Because half the room wasn't there.

A good six foot  _hole in the air_  - she couldn't think of a better way to describe it - was hovering in the middle of the room, golden shapes and angles flickering around the edges. And on the other side of that hole-

Peggy committed the inexcusable sin and dropped her gun.

It went off, of course, narrowly missing Howard, who howled and hopped in an attempt to dodge the bullet that had already passed him.

"Pegs!" he cried in delight, turning to see her. "Peggy, look - this is amazing - you'll never guess who!"

But Peggy couldn't do much else other than look. She couldn't even blink - just stared, the name of the man on the other side of the hole trapped breathless on her lips.

Because on the other side of the hole in the air was Steve Rogers. He didn't look much better - standing stock still with wide eyes full of mingled surprise and pain - looking at her as though he could touch her with the strength of his gaze alone.

"Hi," he gasped at last.

Howard looked back and forth between the two of them for a minute. "Well," he said. "Nice to see everybody again, huh? Pegs, make Steve tell me where he is in our time. He says he'll be frozen another sixty years or so and not to keep looking for him."

Peggy swallowed hard and started to sit down - then realized there was nothing to sit on and remained standing instead. "What did you do, Howard?" she demanded hoarsely, though she didn't take her eyes off of the captain.

"Me?" Howard put on an air of innocence that hadn't fooled anybody since he was twelve. "Absolutely nothing. Just tinkering with this," he gestured toward Schmidt's glowing blue cube, which Peggy noticed for the first time was sitting on the workbench dead in front of the hole, "And suddenly they just came out of nowhere."

"Actually, not nowhere." A dark-haired man popped up on the other side of the hole beside Steve. He too looked back and forth between Steve and Peggy for a minute, in a gesture so like Howard's that it was almost ludicrous. Then he flapped a hand and proceeded. "We're from the future. And we need that cube to save the world."

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Gradually it all came out, in bits and pieces. Evidently the cube - "the  _Tesseract_ ," as Steve's friend insisted on calling it - was one of a set of others. All together, they had proven deadly to the future - a future which Captain America had somehow lived to see, even though Peggy herself had not.

She knew that without words. The captain wouldn't look at her like that if an older version of herself was still running around. Good heavens - she must have been nearly a hundred by that point.

"We need that," Steve's friend was saying. He'd introduced himself as Tony, but the way he'd left off his last name made Peggy think he was holding something back. "With this stone, we have a weapon - we can fight back, have an advantage for the first time. The Tesseract isn't just a cube - the cube part is a box for the power inside."

Howard's eyebrows flew upward until they were in danger of falling off. "More power inside? How do we get it open?"

"Um yeah - shouldn't have said that," Tony muttered. "You don't," he enunciated more clearly. "You don't mess around with it."

"But you have no  _idea_  what I could do with it!" Howard protested. He had fairly lit up with ideas - one could almost see them spinning around his head.

Steve's face twisted, became more grim. "Believe me, I have a very good idea. You want to save the world, Howard? Do some good? This is how you do it. If you give us that cube-" he hesitated briefly, and then his jaw hardened and he leaned closer to the surface of the hole. "If you give us that cube, you'll be potentially saving trillions of lives.  _Trillions,_  Howard."

Peggy blinked. "There can't be that many people on earth by then, surely," she managed.

Steve's eyes flickered up to meet hers. They were  _so_  sad. He looked tired, worn out, old before his time. "There aren't," he said. "This isn't just the earth we're talking about."

Heavy silence settled in the room. For a long time, Howard looked at the cube. It flickered, blue light dancing across his face, glinting in the dark waves of his hair. From the other side of the singularity, Tony watched closely, lines tightening around his eyes, betraying his anxiety.

Steve watched Peggy.

And she watched him.

"Is - are you…" he stopped, cleared his throat, addressed her directly for the first time. "How are things?"

The lump in Peggy's throat grew exponentially at the sound of his voice. This was all so impossible.

"Fine," she managed, voice thready. Her chest hurt. "I've kept busy."  _I've missed you,_  she wanted to say, but couldn't get the words out.

He nodded. The look in his eyes was almost physically painful, but he smiled. "I know. You'll do well." He swallowed hard. "I've missed you."

Because of course  _he_  could say what they were both thinking - at least that part of it.

"Can you come back through?" she asked at last, gesturing towards the gap in space and time. It was selfish to ask, but she needed to know.

She knew before he shook his head sadly. "I'm here for good, Peggy," he told her, and managed a halfhearted smile. "It's not so bad. They need me. Besides, this is everything we've got, right here." He gestured at the hole in the air. "We won't be able to put together another one like this."

At the workbench, Howard abruptly straightened with a jerk. Blue light seemed to linger in his eyes for a moment, but then he shook his head and it was gone. On the other side of the singularity, Tony took a deep breath - almost as though he was relieved.

"Fine," Howard said. "Fine. How do I…" he gestured, "...do I just stick it through the gap?"

Evidently the answer was yes. Picking it up with a pair of long-handled tongs, Howard approached the hole in space. He hesitated once more, and shook his head.

"Well, goodbye fame and fortune. Only for you, Steve - only for you."

And then he shoved it through.

It was as if an invisible membrane stretched across the gap - Howard had to put a lot of muscle into it. Something tensed, bulged - and then gave so suddenly that he stumbled and almost went through himself. Peggy grabbed his belt, galvanized into action. The tongs opened, shaken by the motion, but Tony was there and ready with a case, catching the cube neatly and clapping a lid on it.

Somehow it felt like a crisis had passed, some subtle tension in the air had vanished, and everyone breathed a little easier. The creases in the captain's brow lightened, and a real smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he looked across at her.

Howard drew back the tongs, but as they came back through the invisible barrier, they crumbled into ashes at his feet.

Then the opening in space and time shuddered. The golden lines and angles surrounding it flickered in and out. Peggy's heart jolted in her chest as it began to shrink. Steve half flung out a hand, and then caught himself. His face creased in helpless despair for a moment. Then he forced it back and held her gaze with his own - so securely, so warmly, that it was almost like a physical touch.

"Peggy," he gasped. "I-" He paused, groped for words. "Stay safe?" he finally managed.

It wasn't what either of them had wanted him to say. Peggy held her head high, nodded once. She would not spend their last moments in tears.

"You too," she whispered.

His eyes were so very, very blue. He was alive - he would survive the awful crash - so why did it feel like her world was ending as the closing circle slowly blotted more and more of him from view?

Something touched her arm, and Peggy jumped. It was Howard. He jerked his head towards the singularity and smiled - a sad, understanding little smile, very unlike him.

"Go to him, Peggy."

Peggy gasped. On the other side of the hole, Steve made a choking sound, but when she looked back at him he was shaking his head, looking particularly miserable. The dear, self-sacrificing idiot.

"There's still so much for you to do," he told her earnestly. "We don't know what it would do to you."

The hole continued to shrink - now only a yard across. Peggy swallowed hard, measuring it with her eyes. "Howard?"

Howard shrugged, and then leaned in to plant a quick kiss on her cheek. "No idea." he said. "Best of luck, Pegs."

She looked at him, looked around at the world she knew. Then she lifted her chin decidedly. Never let it be said that Peggy Carter shirked her duties - or broke her promises.

She stepped forward.

The closing time dragged at the ends of her hair, at her dress. She pressed on, digging her feet in, fighting for purchase - and then she was through, and the way back winked out of existence behind her.

Cement stretched hard and cold beneath her feet. The room might have been some sort of lab, severely damaged by battle.

Peggy didn't see any of it. She had eyes for only one person. Steve was staring at her, stunned. Beside him, Tony grinned like a Cheshire Cat.

She cleared her throat, raised her head with all the confidence she could muster. "I believe I owe you a dance, soldier."

The captain tried twice to breathe, and failed utterly. Just as Peggy was starting to wonder if she'd broken something by coming, he finally lunged into motion, crossing the room in two steps and sweeping her into his arms in a wholehearted embrace that filled her entire existence and sent warmth racing from her fingers to the tips of her toes. He was shaking. She wound her arms around him and held him tightly, the tears she'd been holding back finally escaping down her cheeks as she smothered a sob of her own in his shoulder.

They'd never had this before - but evidently jumping forward through time was a good enough excuse.

Something exploded outside, and Tony flinched beside them, though he still looked overwhelmingly cheerful about this whole thing. "Whoops, looks like they've found us. Hey, we've gotta get out of here now, Steve. Steve?  _Steve,_ listen up, buddy. Like I know you just got your girl back, but still…"

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Eventually they did get out of the building. At the sound of approaching chaos, Peggy reached for her gun, only to realize she'd dropped it in Howard's lab, seventy years before. The sheer scale of what she'd just given up was finally starting to hit her, but Steve was beside her, and Steve's hand was warm on her back, and that was enough for the moment.

"Here," he said, offering her a weapon as Tony scuttled on ahead. "You'll want one of these in case they come this way. Wakandan make - it's vibranium based."

Peggy did indeed want it, very much. It fit her hand nicely - she couldn't wait to try it out. She figured at some point she would need to get around to asking who  _they_ were, and where  _they_ were, and why  _they_ were blowing up wherever this was, but in the meantime she took it all in stride.

"Peggy?"

She looked up from her new toy. "Mmm?"

Steve looked very hesitant, very guilty. "We can't send you back."

She nodded, dashed one hand across her wet eyes, and thought of Howard's tongs, crumbled into ash as they went back through time. She had just given up her home, her loved ones, her life's work all in a moment for the chance to be with the only man who had ever filled the gap in her heart. "I know. It was my only chance."

Another explosion shook the ground, nearer this time. Steve reached for her, took her hand deliberately - her left hand - and gently touched the base of her ring finger with his thumb. Then he looked up at her.

"Marry me, Peggy."

Peggy raised a cool eyebrow that was very much at odds with the wild, unsuppressed state of her heart at the moment. "Why, because I'm stranded and can't go back?"

He shook his head. "No. Because we waited too long last time and I  _will not_ do it again."

She cupped her free hand under his chin, and raised it, scanning his features carefully, ignoring the need for haste, stretching out the moments they had. He looked older, more tired, disillusioned, though the old familiar kindness still persisted.

"Any other women?" she asked archly, though she already guessed the answer. The captain's ears turned pink, which charmed her, and immediately she knew. Older he might be, with years of age and trouble and separation which had taken their toll, but the soul of him was still the same good man it had always been.

"Um, no," Steve managed. "That is, I went out with a few, but - not really, no. You've - you've always been it for me, Peggy." He must have liked what he saw in her face then, for he started to smile - his own, true smile - and gathered both her hands in his. "If we live through this, will you marry me?"

She nodded, heart too full for words. Then she drew his head down and kissed him with everything she had, feeling the sharp-edged fragments of her soul begin to slot together, coming into place as he kissed her back.

"Yes," she whispered, and the joy in his tired face was brighter than the sun.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know this is a lazy train wreck, and there's more plot holes than there are in a block of Swiss cheese - but it's my train wreck, and I like it. I wanted Infinity War to give me an excuse to write it, but they wouldn't change their plot to accommodate. So here, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> See you tomorrow!


	3. Crossover: Friends and (Almost) Relations

**Day three: Crossover**

**Friends and (Almost) Relations**

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The rain had been coming down all day. Even though it had been hours since she'd taken them off, Peggy's galoshes were still wet by the time she went to put them back on. She struggled into them, standing first on one foot and then the other, leaning against the doorframe for balance as she held the decoded translation that she'd come for between her teeth.

She hadn't been to Whitehall in what seemed like ages - particularly not to this wing. It brought back memories of earlier, happier days. A few of the girls in the code-breaking department had remembered her from Bletchley Park, and they'd had a nice enough reunion. She couldn't talk about her work though, and they couldn't talk about theirs, so most of the time had consisted of waiting for the cryptographers to finish with her translation.

"Peg?"

Peggy momentarily froze, suddenly very conscious of her damp, disheveled clothing, of her hair coming out of its pins, of her undignified attitude. With a wrench, she got the last boot over her heel and straightened up, taking the paper out of her mouth.

"Hello, Fred."

Because it was Fred. Fred Wells, the man she had almost married. She hadn't realized he still worked at the Home Office after all this time, but apparently nothing had changed. Nothing except his hairline, which had crept still further back in the time since she had seen him. He would be as bald as his father in ten years.

"Peg!" He sounded positively delighted, coming down the hall toward her, masterfully ignoring the condition of her hair as he reached to take her coat. He had always been such a perfect gentleman. "Here, allow me."

She turned, allowing him to help her on with her coat, still trying to decide how to react. He smoothed the fabric solicitously over her shoulders - the military cut hadn't escaped his notice. "So, how is the army treating you? Your mother used to keep me updated, but these days I don't hear much."

Ouch, that stung. And the worst of it was that he hadn't even meant for it to - the man didn't have an intentionally spiteful bone in his body. But Peggy was very aware of the fact that she'd barely corresponded with him at all since breaking off the engagement. She'd needed a clean break from her past, and that was what she'd got.

"Well enough," she told him lightly as she turned to face him, because there was no way she could tell him about her work with the SSR. Her clearance level was higher than his, these days. "You?"

Fred sobered instantly, taking both her hands in his with one of those compassionate gestures that he was so prone to. "I never did get the chance to offer my condolences about your brother. I didn't know him well, but he seemed quite remarkable."

The smile died on Peggy's lips. It had been four years, and she still couldn't talk about her brother without a heavy heart. "Thank you. I - yes. He was."

She withdrew her hands and started buttoning her coat as she began down the long staircase, but he kept pace with her.

"Imagine meeting you here, though - of all places! Are you stationed in London? The girls in the office could use someone with your codebreaking expertise, and it must be nice for you to be someplace civilized."

Peggy laughed over her shoulder. "Loose lips," she reminded him with a gaiety she didn't entirely feel. "I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to, Fred." Truthfully, she didn't do much codebreaking these days - her time was far too filled up chasing Hydra all over creation.

They reached the foot of the staircase, and Peggy looked out through the front windows at the sheets of rain pouring down. Of course - this  _would_  be the day she'd left her umbrella on the Tube.

On an impulse, she swung around, hand outstretched. It had been far too long since she'd seen someone from her past. Those days seemed so far away. She had been younger, then.

"It's been nice, Fred," she said honestly. "I hope you have a wonderful evening."

He took her hand holding it between both of his. "But are you going now? We've just begun to catch up." Glancing up at the clock on the wall, he visibly brightened. "I say, Peg. There's a reception tonight - very exclusive, but they do always extend an invitation to us at the Home Office. Perhaps you'd like to come along? There will be a band, and we can catch up properly then."

Peggy knew about the reception. In fact, she had an invitation to the reception in her pocket at that very moment. Colonel Phillips had wrangled it for her, declaring that he "wouldn't go to a **** thing like that alone."

She smiled, and tried gently to extract her hand. "Actually, I believe I may see you then, though I'll be working through it. There won't be much time to chat, I'm afraid."

"No, really?" Fred never did do well hiding his dismay. "Well, perhaps just one dance, then. I do want to hear all about - oh, excuse me."

That last was directed to the exterior door and the person who had just blown through it - a very tall, dripping person who appeared to be having a great deal of trouble with his umbrella. Then the wet folds collapsed into order, and Peggy came face to face with Captain Rogers.

Oh, fate certainly had it in for her today.

"Peggy!" Steve said, appearing almost as startled as she was. Then he realized she wasn't alone, and belatedly amended, "Agent Carter."

"Captain," she responded, aiming for composure, since evidently her dignity was doomed. "Captain Rogers, this is Lieutenant Wells. Lieutenant Wells, Captain Rogers. Captain, the Lieutenant and I grew up near each other in Hampstead."

Fred saluted smartly, and Peggy took advantage of the moment to put her hand safely in her pocket. Steve returned the salute with good will, although he showered the floor around him with drops at every movement.

"Glad to meet any friend of Agent Carter's," he told the other man. "She's the best agent I've ever worked with."

Fred didn't seem to recognize Steve as Captain America, which was at least one good thing about this whole situation. "She is remarkable, isn't she?" he beamed. "Doing her part for King and Country, laying aside all personal interests. We put all our own plans on hold, of course, once she'd made up her mind. One wouldn't have expected it of our Peg, but it's quite admirable."

That was a bit too much. "I find my work quite stimulating, actually," Peggy broke in, smiling brightly. A little too brightly, probably. "Captain? Were you looking for me?"

"I was." Steve rustled the umbrella in his hand. Between all the water coming off the umbrella, and the steady drip of his overcoat, he was developing quite the puddle. "Phillips sent me. Wanted to make sure you weren't 'drowned in a ditch somewhere.'" From the twist of his mouth, she knew that last was a direct quote. Then he offered her the umbrella. "Also thought you might find this handy."

Oh, bless him. How had he known she'd lost hers? Peggy reached to accept it, and then stopped. "Wait a moment and I'll go with you. Just give me two seconds, all right?"

Steve nodded, and tugged of his hat, shedding more water on the floor. How he had managed to get so wet while carrying an umbrella, Peggy couldn't imagine. "Sure. I'll just - I'll be right over there. Take your time."

He retreated to stand and drip by the front door, occupying himself with furling the umbrella, since there wasn't much else for him to do. Peggy turned back towards Fred, and smiled.

"Goodbye, Fred. It was nice seeing you again. Good luck with your work."

Fred took her hand again, and once again didn't let go. He was smiling, that great, charming smile that had won her over once upon a time. "I'll see you tonight, then? Save me the first dance; It'll be just like old times. I  _have_ missed you, Peg. You haven't changed a bit."

Peggy hesitated and then shook her head. She hadn't wanted to do this within the supersoldier's hearing, so she drew the lieutenant a little further away and dropped her voice, eyes pleading earnestly for him to understand. "Fred - the girl you fell in love with was a lot younger. She still had a family, a - a brother." She tried to steady the quiver in her voice, but it didn't quite work. "I'm not that girl anymore, and I don't believe I ever shall be again. I've moved on, Fred."

Fred had always been sympathetic to a fault, even if he had never really understood her. For a long moment he looked at her, at the army uniform she wore with confidence - and then his eyes flickered past her to the American soldier by the door, standing in a puddle and studiously staring out the window at the driving sheets of rain. When he looked back down at her, she saw a trace of quiet resignation in his eyes.

He must have known that it couldn't work - not after this long. The war had changed both of them, whether sequestered in the Home Office or not. But they  _had_ had something, in those long-past days, and it was for the sake of that something that made Peggy step forward and put both arms around him for the briefest of embraces.

He let her go when she pulled away.

"Goodbye, Fred," she said kindly.

Steve was ready for her when she crossed the entryway, holding the door for her and expanding the umbrella to its full width as they stepped out into the weather. Neither one said a word for a block and a half, both busy with their own thoughts.

Then Steve cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Funny the way you run into old friends," he said with great nonchalance.

Peggy hummed absently. She wondered how much he had heard. Knowing the captain's enhanced abilities, he'd probably tried very hard not to catch any of it, and had picked up just enough to make him uncomfortable.

"You two have plans tonight?" he asked after a minute. "I mean - I'm not doing anything, so if you need me to cover - I mean, if the two - um." He floundered and fell silent.

She kept the corners of her mouth from quirking up. "That's sweet of you to offer, but Fred and I have no plans to go dancing. That was all over long ago."

They crossed a street together, Peggy taking two steps to Steve's one. The mist and water in the air made everything appear blurred, softer. Her hair wouldn't have an ounce of curl left by the time she got back to deliver her translation.

"He seems like he might be a pretty good partner," Steve said after a while, very quietly, voice almost covered by the rush of the rain. "I'd be happy to cover for you if you want. Phillips won't mind."

Peggy stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, so quickly that the person behind her almost ran her down. Steve spun on one heel, trying to keep the umbrella over her. "Peggy?"

She looked up at him. His blond hair was dark with moisture, clinging to his forehead beneath his hat; his blue eyes as humble and straightforward as ever. He stood there, stooping slightly, holding the umbrella more over her head than his own, and waited patiently for her to explain why they were stopping in the middle of the walkway.

Peggy's heart swelled fondly.

"I haven't changed my mind about saving my dances for the right partner," she reminded him softly, and reached up to poke his hat straight. "And Steve - Fred dances beautifully, but he isn't it."

She saw the moment he understood what she was saying, saw the warmth leap into his eyes, the relaxation of the jaw she hadn't realized had been tightly clenched. Dimpling, she slipped her hand through the crook of his arm and tugged him along until his feet started to move and he remembered how to walk.

"Come on, Captain," she ordered gaily. Somehow the world seemed brighter than it had a few minutes ago. "Let's get back before the colonel starts dragging the Thames for us. And if we're quick enough, there might be time to get dinner before the reception starts."

There was a spring to the captain's step as he fell into rhythm with her, and a brightness in his face that fairly illuminated the grey day, despite the rain drumming down on them both.

"Yes, ma'am," he responded with a smile in his voice as he folded her hand closer. Then arm in arm, they set out through the rain, the umbrella bobbing merrily over their heads with every step.

It wasn't a dance, not yet. But it  _was_  with the right partner - and that fact alone made all the difference in the world.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was my crossover for yesterday (CA:TFA and Agent Carter totally counts as a crossover, right?). But I hurt my hands typing at work and couldn't finish it until today. Hopefully you all won't mind?
> 
> See you tomorrow!


	4. Song: "I'll Walk Alone"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author's suggestion: for best effect, look up the version on YouTube sung by Martha Tilton and listen as you read.)

**Day 4: Song - "[I'll Walk Alone](https://youtu.be/hs57pRpBjsg)"**

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_I'll walk alone_

_But to tell you the truth, I'll be lonely_

_I don't mind being lonely_

_When my heart tells me you are lonely, too_

_I'll walk alone_

_They'll ask me why and I'll tell them I'd rather_

_There are dreams I must gather_

_Dreams we fashioned the night you held me tight_

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**London, 1944**

"Pity such a swell dame has t'be alone tonight. Sure you don't want company?"

The soldier was undoubtedly drunk, and very young. Peggy side-stepped him without a second glance, stepping briskly homeward. Well - towards the tiny flat she shared with three other typists who worked for the war effort. It wasn't much like the home she'd grown up in, but it would do temporarily.

"Ain'tcha lonely?" howled the young private as she passed. "I c'n help with that! C'mon 'n dance with me - I'll buy ya a drink..."

His voice faded as she continued on, but his comments stuck with her.

 _It was true_ , Peggy acknowledged to herself, in the rare honesty that occurs in us all at one point or another. She  _was_  lonely, in a way, though it wasn't a sad loneliness - merely a sense of something wanting. Blue eyes, an honest smile, a wry sense of humor - all somewhere in Poland, at the moment. At least, she hoped they were in Poland. They'd  _better_  be in Poland. If they weren't, then that meant she had bigger things to worry about.

Cool wind ruffled her hair, and Peggy hugged herself as she rounded a corner and pressed on towards the cup of hot soup and a shared mattress that would mark the end of her day. Paper crackled in her pocket, and it took her a moment to realize she was smiling at the sound.

A letter.

It had come with the latest report, sealed securely, and with her name dashed across the front in a hurried scrawl that was quickly becoming as familiar to her as her own. Phillips hadn't commented aloud as he'd handed it over, but the amused eyebrow he'd aimed her direction had sent the blood rising to her cheeks and Steve's letter quickly into her pocket.

She would open it tonight, and read it in the dim light of the lamp as the other girls got ready for bed. They would probably be miffed when she didn't tell them what it said - they always gleefully broadcast the contents of their own letters from the front - but this was all Peggy had, and she wanted to keep every word of it to herself, hugged close to her heart.

He meant a lot to her - a great deal now, more and more the longer they'd known each other. By the time the war ended, well… She had her own set of dreams, carefully cherished, and she knew that he shared them too.

Peggy hugged herself more tightly and then paused on the front steps that led up to her lodging house. The full moon shone overhead, and she looked up at it. Surely, surely, it must be shining down on her captain at that moment, connecting them in some way.

He was out there, somewhere - probably thinking of her. The thought made her thrill to the depths of her soul.

"Good night, my darling," she whispered aloud - and then, shaking her head at her own foolish, sweet sentiment, she hurried up the stairs and slipped through the front door.

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**Washington D.C., 2014**

Everything had gone to pieces. Everything he'd fought for, worked for,  _died_ for - it was all for nothing.

Steve sat on the cold cement and bowed his head, ran both hands through his sweaty, gritty hair, mind whirling. Nowhere to go, no resources, no backup, nobody to trust except the woman curled up on the ground behind him - and she wasn't in much condition to help at the moment.

Even as he thought about her, Natasha shifted and coughed in her sleep - a dry, rasping sound. Despite his best efforts, she'd inhaled a lot of smoke and dust after the SHIELD-sent missile had blown up the old SSR base around their ears. The shock of the explosion had left her struggling to breathe and only semi-conscious, so he had avoided their hunters, abandoned their borrowed vehicle, and holed up under an overpass to spend the night. Barring any more sudden unpleasant revelations, they wouldn't be found - at least not tonight.

The old man still knew a thing or two about avoiding pursuit, even if he couldn't tell anymore which side was the right side.

With a shuddering breath, Steve tilted back his head and looked up into the night sky, elbows propped on his knees, hands dangling.

_What now? Where do we go from here?_

It was times like this that brought back to him just exactly how alone he was, how terribly he missed his best girl.

He thought he'd done a pretty good job lately of not dwelling on thoughts of what might have been, done his best to move on with the rest of his life around all the shattered pieces of the dreams they'd once built for their future. Seeing her picture hanging on the wall at Camp Lehigh, though - that had brought it all rushing back with the force of a sledgehammer to the heart, and now as he sat in the shadow of the overpass, there was nothing he wanted more in all of creation than to see her again, talk things over with her.

She would know what to do. Peggy had always known what to do. His heart throbbed and bled within him; he closed his eyes against the hopeless pain.

_Oh, Peggy - what am I supposed to do now?_

When he opened his eyes again, the moon had peeked over the edge of the building opposite, filling the street with a cool, white light. Despite the added danger of discovery it posed, Steve felt himself slowly relaxing. It reminded him of all those nights during the war when he'd watched the moon wistfully, knowing it was shining down on her somewhere or other. Sentimental, sure - but it had helped more than he could say.

Unbidden, his last memory of her arose in his mind.  _Go get him_ , she had ordered, and then kissed him with all of her heart. She had always been his compass, his true north, his star to set sail by - and that had been her last command; to take down Hydra.

Could he do any less now, now that he'd learned it had survived?

The edge of his despair faded a little, now that he had a direction - and for the most fleeting of moments, the captain could have sworn he felt her presence beside him, her magnetism, her strength…

...her love.

 _Go get them_.

All right then - he would. And surely he wasn't the only man in America who would stand up for freedom. There would be others, and he would find them, and then see this thing through to the end, whatever that meant. She would expect nothing less of him.

With a long breath, Steve swiped a hand across his face, and then looked up into the moonlight.

"Thanks, Peggy," he breathed - and if the moonlight blurred a little, or his eyes were wet, his heart found some relief and was all the lighter for it.

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_I'll always be near you wherever you are each night_

_In every prayer_

_If you call I'll hear you, no matter how far_

_Just close your eyes and I'll be there_

_Please walk alone_

_And send your love and your kisses to guide me_

_Till you're walking beside me_

_I'll walk alone_

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WWII era songs always make me think of Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter. At that time, the boys at the front only wanted to hear songs about home and family (think I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas, I'll Be Home for Christmas, When the Lights Go On Again, etc). It actually drove the US war department crazy, since they wanted martial songs that everyone would rally under - but the only songs that anybody would buy were all about the war being over and getting to be back with their loved ones. To this day, some of these songs still top the best-sellers list.
> 
> This song is "I'll Walk Alone," by Jule Styne and Sammy Cahn, 1944. Copyright owned by Warner/Chappell Music, Inc, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd. Used without permission.


	5. Domestic Bliss

**Day 5: Domestic Bliss**

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The sun had already slipped below the horizon by the time Steve Rogers got home. Fading gold and crimson glory spread across the sky as he fumbled with his keys, letting himself in. The house was quiet as he stepped inside; Peggy was either out, or too preoccupied with something to discover he'd returned home. Moving silently, he carefully set his briefcase by the door and then hung up his hat and overcoat.

"Peggy?" he asked, voice hushed in the stillness of the house. He didn't receive a reply - had hardly expected one. Keeping his steps silent, he slipped into the front room. There he stopped, warmth flooding his chest, smile slowly spreading across his face.

The lamp was on, and in the warm pool of light, Peggy curled on the couch. Her hair tumbled over the cushions, and a book lying facedown on the carpet testified her occupation before she had fallen asleep. For she was - deeply, profoundly asleep.

Moving quietly, Steve set down his keys on the end table and crossed to her side. Pushing back her hair tenderly, he stooped and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. She stirred a little, mumbled something, but remained asleep. She really had been wearing herself out these days, what with founding the new, yet-to-be-named successor to the SSR.

She deserved a break.

Moving quietly into the kitchen, he rummaged in the pantry for a couple cans of soup, and then got down on his knees to go through the cupboard to find a pot. He actually got it out with a minimum of clattering, for which thing he was very proud. Setting the soup on the stove to heat, he found the potatoes and slipped them into the oven.

There. Dinner. Nothing fancy, and there wasn't any meat, but it would do.

Returning to the front room, Steve sat down in his easy chair, stretched out his legs, and spent a minute just watching her - his sweetheart, his wife, the love of his life. How had he ever managed without her? How had he ever been lucky enough to convince her to spend the rest of her life with him?

Peggy shifted a little, red-tipped fingers curling beneath her cheek. She looked almost childlike - innocent, at peace.

Steve's fingers itched for a pencil. He looked around for several moments before finding one that had fallen off the coffee table and rolled under the rug. Then, on the back of the nearest piece of paper available, he began tracing her dearly beloved outline for the thousandth-and-first time.

It had all happened so fast, looking back. After he'd been rescued from the Arctic - the news called it a "heroic rescue mission" posted by the Commandos and backed by Howard Stark - he had returned home to New York for recovery and debriefing. Peggy had followed him.

Steve's pencil danced along the curve of his wife's rosy cheek, softly shading in the shadow of her dark lashes. He smiled, remembering.

They'd had their dance - and then several more - and then he'd been summoned to the Pacific Theater. It was unorthodox, but the war was still in full force down there, and the men could use some hope.

Two days after the summons came, they were married. Mrs. Barnes had made the wedding breakfast, the Commandos bought the drinks for after, and then the bride and groom had enjoyed one thoroughly precious week at one of Howard's homes in California before he'd shipped out.

By the time he returned to the States, Peggy had got herself neck-deep in intrigue and scandal at the SSR. Ever since, they'd been making the most of their newly-gained civilian status. Steve had used the GI Bill to go to college, and spent the time taking as many law courses as he could fit alongside his actual area of study. Peggy, on the other hand, stayed with the SSR, working with them even as she made arrangements with the government for a more permanent, long-term program to succeed it.

And now - now here they were. Steve felt the corners of his mouth lift automatically as he penciled in the shape of the wedding ring on his wife's hand. He'd loved her with all his heart when he had first placed that ring on her finger - but she had grown infinitely more dear to him with every passing day since.

The soft, dark waves of her hair were fun to draw. Steve drew them with long, bold strokes, paying special attention to the way the finer hairs curled at her temples. Then her left eyebrow - and just a little more attention to those eyelashes…

The eyelashes in question fluttered suddenly, and then Peggy blinked both eyes open blearily and looked at him for a minute.

"Oh. Hello."

Her voice was soft and contented and still slightly slurred from sleep - she wasn't entirely awake yet. Steve grinned and laid aside his sketch, scooting from his chair to the floor beside her.

"Hey," he said quietly, reaching out to brush those tempting curls with his fingers. She hummed sleepily and tipped up her face to be kissed, which he did with a right good will.

"Didn't know you were home," she added, looking rather more awake after his kiss. Then she looked around, saw the darkness of the sky outside the windows, and blinked in hazy consternation, pushing herself up onto her elbows. "What time is it?"

Steve shrugged. "Don't know. Eight, maybe? I put some soup and potatoes on - should be about ready, if you're hungry."

Her eyebrows puckered endearingly, her cheeks still adorably flushed with sleep. "Soup and potatoes isn't enough to hold you over."

He ducked his head with a somewhat sheepish air. "I may have put in six or seven potatoes. It'll be fine."

Peggy's eyebrows rose to her hairline. "'Fine,' he says," she soliloquised. "Darling, you'll be up at three in the morning eating all the peanut butter again, trying to tide yourself over to breakfast." She shook her head, yawning as she sat up. "There's some leftover pot roast in the fridge - I'll make up a gravy. That'll help a little."

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The gravy was thick and hot, with chunks of beef. Peggy was right - it would definitely help keep him satisfied until morning. Feeding a supersoldier appetite was a constant series of trial and error, now that they were both civilians and no longer eating army-issued rations. They both deliberately tried to eat slowly - the habit of bolting their food was one they'd both acquired during the war, and were constantly trying to break.

Over the steaming potatoes and gravy and soup, they chatted about their day. Peggy had been involved in a series of negotiations about the title of the new organization to replace the SSR, though nothing had as yet been decided. "I prefer the Logistics and Strategy Administration myself," she explained, blowing lightly on her soup to cool it. "Although Phillips is arguing for the National Enforcement and Scientific Division."

"I like the Civilian Protection Administration," Steve argued, gesturing with his fork. "Protection - that's what we're supposed to be all about. Ordinary, everyday guys putting a shield between ourselves and our enemies, preserving our freedoms."

Peggy's eyes suddenly sparkled. "Speaking of shields, I should take yours in to the negotiations tomorrow and use it to make my point. Maybe we could finally get past this superficial business of names and get down to the real work."

The image of Peggy wielding the starry shield at a table full of bureaucrats and stuffed shirts made Steve grin. "You should," he retorted. "I'd pay good money to see that."

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He was washing up the dishes later when she came up behind him. Paper crackled in her hands.

"Steve. Have you been drawing on the back of the gas bill again?"

Twisting to look over his shoulder, he came face to face with the drawing he'd been doing of his wife while she was asleep. On the other side, where Peggy's thumb held it half folded over, he could see numbers.

"Um. I plead the fifth?"

She poked him in the ticklish spot along his ribs, and he jumped, laughing breathlessly and splashing dishwater onto the counter. "I don't think whoever drew on that knew it was the gas bill," he defended himself, grinning despite his best efforts at a poker face. "It was just the first paper within reach."

Peggy's lips were pursed with an exasperated fondness, but her eyes were very tender as she looked down at his simple drawing. Steve always laid his whole heart out in everything he drew - and it was plain to whoever looked that the artist was very, very much in love with the woman in the sketch.

Without a word, she laid down the paper and drew nearer to him, putting both arms around him and laying her head over his heart. Steve held his hands out to the sides, not wanting to get her dress wet, but he did bow his head and lay first his cheek and then his lips against her hair, breathing in the quiet peace and intimacy of the moment.

"I love you," she whispered after a moment.

"I love you too," he answered, voice low, heart very full with gratitude. He never could have dreamed marriage would be this good - not in a thousand years.

Peggy's head shifted, and then she looked up at him, resting her chin against his chest. "Then why are you so far away?"

Steve lifted both eyebrows very innocently, and then gestured with his still dripping hands. "Don't want to get you wet, and I can't reach the dish towel."

She stood on her toes, pressing up closer to him until her laughing, dancing eyes filled his whole world. "The dress can handle it," she promised.

He beamed down into her face, and then wrapped her up in his arms and kissed her with all of his heart. They held each other close, whispering softly, until the dishwater was quite, quite cold. And then - then Peggy reached for the dishtowel, and Steve ran more hot water, and they finished the dishes together.

Because somehow, in the light of their love and happiness, even the most mundane of duties became moments worth cherishing.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one shot is a gift to the truly wonderful DocMui, who so very kindly had some lovely art commissions done for scenes from two of my other stories, Sarcophagus and Cradle. Check out his Tumblr account at greenjacketwhitehatdocmui.tumblr.com to see some of the other fun pictures and things he posts!
> 
> I intended to post this for the domestic prompt yesterday - but it's late because ironically I, like Peggy, actually fell asleep on the couch while I was proofreading it, and didn't wake up until it was way too late to do anything but stumble into bed. :P
> 
> Today's prompt will be up as soon as I can get it whipped into shape!


	6. Tropes and Cliches: Swept Off Your Feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um - so I was going to take this cliche and run with it - but then I think it ran away with me. This got a lot more technical than I meant for it to.

**Day 6 - Tropes and Cliches: Swept off Your Feet**

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The trouble with Italy in springtime, Steve decided, was the mountains.

The second biggest problem with Italy in the springtime was the rivers.

Unfortunately, the two were related.

" _No_ , Steve." Bucky stood at his shoulder, and together they stared out across the muddy, churning river, swollen with the recent meltoff from the mountains. "You're not doing this. There's gotta be a way around it."

"You know there isn't." Steve didn't take his eyes off the water. "Scouts have been up and down for fifty miles - this is the best fording spot."

"This is a terrible fording spot," Bucky retorted.

Steve couldn't argue with that one.

Jones yanked hard one more time at the knot he was tying around the captain's waist, and then slapped him on the shoulder. "Okay, you're good to go. We'll be paying out the line from here. If you lose your footing, grab hold of the line and try to float feet-first down the river until we can pull you out."

Steve nodded once, puffed out his cheeks in a quick exhale, and then bumped Bucky with his shoulder.

"See ya on the other side," he said, and then stepped into the water.

The rapid current pooled harmlessly around his boot-soles - and then around his ankles. By the third step, it was up to his knees. The water was ice-cold; only hours ago it had melted from the high Alpine snowbanks above their heads. Steve could feel stones shifting under his feet, and took a moment to steady himself before taking another step.

That next step was almost his last. The current was everywhere now, tugging at his clothes, splashing up his thighs until he was wet to the waist. A rock turned beneath his foot without warning, and he almost went down, the rapid river waters taking hold and using his momentary distraction to their advantage. By the time he regained solid footing, he was completely drenched and shivering.

_Okay. Okay. He could do this._

Slowly, step by step, Steve moved forward, cautiously planting each foot and testing the slippery stones of the riverbed before transferring his weight. It was all he could do to keep his footing against the mighty press of water; the muscles of his legs shook with the strain as he braced himself against the current, and he knew nobody else on the team could have made it.

Other than one spot in the middle, where the water rose to hit him mid-ribs, most of the passage was waist-deep or lower. Twice more he nearly lost his footing, but at last he staggered out the other side. Water poured from his clothing in streams; a shout of triumph rose on the other side.

Things moved quickly after that. Cutting the rope around him - Gabe's knot had swollen with water - he coiled his end of the line around his arm, reeling in the heavier rope that Gabe had fastened to the end. Hitching the sturdy rope around the base of the strongest-looking tree he could find, he then turned, waved once, and began the crossing again, laying a second line of strong rope behind him as he came.

The crossing back was easier. With the first rope already in place, he had a handhold - something to hang onto. He emerged from the water among his friends with a grin, then stopped short at the somber faces that met him.

"What's up?" he asked, shaking his head every which way to clear the drops out of his face. "I lose something?"

Morita shook his head. "We just have less time than we thought, is all." He gestured towards the top of the mountain that towered above them. In the time it had taken the captain to ford the river, dark clouds had gathered around it. A roll of thunder split the air as he watched. The air had grown damp and cool, though there was no rain where they were standing.

For a moment, Steve didn't grasp the significance. He'd grown up in a city - this wasn't something he had experience with.

"The water's gonna start rising as soon as all that rainwater up there hits the river system," Morita explained. "We don't get across, we'll be stuck here for two weeks waiting for it to be passable."

Steve frowned, then looked at the rolling water and the two stretches of rope spanning the gulf. Then he looked up at his team with a gleam in his eye.

"Then we'd better hurry."

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They did hurry. If this had been a regular expedition, furnished with tanks and other vehicles, they would've had to build a bridge or flatten the riverbank enough for the tank to make the crossing. As it was, everybody simply did up their equipment in oilcloth, hitched it as high on their backs as they could, and started across one at a time.

Steve himself made the crossing a couple times, carrying Dernier's pack since it had the bulk of their stock of explosives and the Frenchman was too short for it to be kept absolutely dry on his back. Then he carried Morita's pack, and finally Peggy's.

Peggy had been loath to let him take her pack.

"I can carry it perfectly well myself," she argued, chin held high. She was so used to people treating her as though she was somehow incapable because she was a woman, that sometimes she lashed out even when no insult was intended, such as now.

"You can," Steve agreed. He knew how she felt. "You also have the charts - and your pack will be halfway in the water by the time you make it across. Look at Morita."

Peggy looked, and had to agree, purely for practicality's sake. Their shorter friend was in the water almost up to his armpits, clinging to the ropes as he pulled himself across. The current was strong enough he wasn't even trying to walk - just dragging himself along the ropes with his arms, kicking to keep afloat. Yes, the water had definitely risen in just the time it had taken to get the bulk of their party across. Only Bucky and Peggy had yet to cross.

"Fine," she said. "But I want it back on the other side."

"You got it," Steve answered with a grin, hitched her stuff on his back. "Ladies first?" he asked, but she planted both hands on his arm and shoved him forward with an exasperated sound that made his smile only widen as he started into the water, Peggy at his heels.

The current was far stronger than before. Water that had hit him at his ribs before now came decidedly higher. Peggy's things would probably be damp anyway, even with him carrying them. If she'd worn her own pack, she wouldn't have had a single dry corner left in it.

Clambering out the other side, Steve shucked off her pack, and then turned just in time to hear a shout of alarm from Bucky on the far bank. Raising his eyes to follow his friend's pointing hand, Steve looked upstream - and felt his heart turn over in his chest.

A sudden swell of water roared downstream towards them, sweeping small branches and churned-up foam before it. The rainwater had reached them.

_Peggy!_

She was only halfway across, in the middle of the river, just where the water was deepest. For the briefest of instants he saw her white face, her wide eyes, her tightening grip on the ropes—

—and then the water swept her off her feet, and she was gone.

"Peggy!"

He didn't hesitate, leaping into the river after her in a long, low dive that ended abruptly when his head came directly into contact with a stone with a force that momentarily blinded him. Had he been anybody else, it would have broken his neck on impact. Stunned, he flailed - gagged on water, saw stars. The current buffeted him, shoved him down, swept him downstream with a force he couldn't have comprehended before.

What cared nature for Captain America?

Only the urgency of Peggy's danger thrumming through his veins brought Steve back to himself, helped him claw his way up through the water until his head broke the surface and he choked in a lungful of air, promptly coughed it up, and then drew another. He tried to float feet-first down the river, the way Gabe had told him, twisting around for any sight of Peggy.

He couldn't see her. Couldn't see his friends either - he'd been swept far past their makeshift ford and into the deeper, rougher, more dangerous waters that they'd chosen not to cross in the first place.

"PEGGY?" he roared as loudly as he could. "PEGGY!"

Helpless terror clawed at his insides, even as he clung to the rocks the current tried impishly to impale him on. She could have been anywhere by now. He could have passed her in the water. She could be dashed to pieces against the stones somewhere - or floating dead…

His panic broke his concentration, and Steve went under again. The dunking seemed to do him good, for by the time he got his head above water once more, he'd realized his mistake.

Steve Rogers, thanks to the serum, had been strong enough to break to the surface. But Peggy Carter - she should have been in exactly the same position he'd been in earlier, tumbled along the bottom, at the mercy of the waves and water.

He gulped in one last lungful of air, and then let himself go.

The river was more than happy to take him again, pulling him under. This time, though, he didn't fight it - swimming with the current even as he kept one arm curled over his head to protect it from another impact. He couldn't help anybody if he was knocked unconscious.

Prickly branches suddenly jabbed into him without warning - and then he slammed into something hard. Now that he was no longer moving with the water, the weight of the current against him suddenly multiplied, crushing him and flattening him against - what was it, a sunken tree? - until he could barely move. It dragged him down, down, his shirt sliding up with the motion, bark and sticks scraping his exposed flesh.

...and then something soft - something yielding.

A body.

It was trapped against the same tree trunk, dragged down by the same current, tangled in the branches.

With a concerted effort, Steve managed to push himself back against the current enough to get one hand down and grab it. His hand closed around long, silky hair - and he knew.

He'd found her.

It took every ounce of his strength to push back against the current, to wedge an arm between her body and the trunk, to drag her free, branches snapping, fabric tearing. Tree limbs as thick as his arm barred his way; he bared his teeth and struggled up in a mad scramble for the surface, using the massive muscles in his back and legs to force his way through against the overwhelming pressure of the water

His lungs were starting to burn for air.

And Peggy wasn't moving.

;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;

Steve never clearly remembered the part afterward; how he'd finally made it to the surface, dragging Peggy Carter after him - how he'd struggled through the crashing rapids and rocks to get to shore - how he'd clung to the grass and bushes one-handed until with a mighty effort he'd pulled them both from the current and onto dry land. The only things he  _did_  remember distinctly were the way Peggy's wet hair clung to her face in fantastic swirls - and the way her head had sagged backward, mouth open, body limp and slack against his.

Her skin was cold - white - bloodless. Water spilled from her lips.

She wasn't breathing.

_No, no, no…_

His heart pounded heavy and terrified in his chest, and he felt as though he were watching from a distance as his hands began mechanically going through the motions they'd all learned in training camp. Laying her flat on her stomach, head downwards on the bank, he stretched her one arm straight up and angled the other one across, pillowing her head. Then he took her jaw in his hand, carefully, if hurriedly, feeling around inside her mouth. His hands shook as he made sure her tongue wasn't blocking her airway.

Nope - all clear.

For one moment he fumbled at her pulse, but his fingers were numb from the icy water, and he was shaking too badly to tell whether or not her heart still beat. Besides, there was no time.

Kneeling over her legs, he grasped the loose material on either side of her hips, lifting them clear of the ground, doing his best to let gravity drain the water from her lungs and airway. Then he laid her down again, and put his hands on her back. Her jacket was gone - probably still tangled in the branches at the bottom of the river - but that made it easier to tell where he was supposed to put his hands, just at the bottom of her rib cage. Keeping his elbows straight, he swung his weight slowly forward, pressing down.

Water poured from her open mouth.

He let up instantly, and then swung his weight onto her again. Over and over - two seconds to push down, release, wait, then repeat.

"Peggy?" he begged. "Can you hear me? I need you to start breathing. Please, Peggy."

She didn't react - not a flicker, not a twitch.

_How long had she been underwater?_

Back at the base, their first aid instructor had been very clear about this. "Five minutes underwater and they're almost certainly dead," he'd stressed. "But try to revive them anyway. Keep it up for two hours, if you can, or until a medical professional reaches you and confirms they're dead."

The river had confused his sense of time - the river, and possibly the blow to his head. He had no idea how long it had been before he'd found her; it could have been two minutes or twenty. Blood kept trickling into his eyes and dripping from his hair onto the back of Peggy's sodden shirt as he pressed down over - and over - and over.

_Perhaps he was doing it wrong._

The thought almost paralyzed him. The water coming from her mouth had slowed to a trickle, but perhaps he was pushing too hard, hurting her? Steve knew he was a big man now, heavier than most. The last thing he wanted to do was to cause more damage.

"Oh, God," he heard himself say, and wondered vaguely how long he'd been praying. "Please, let her live, let her  _live_. Breathe, Peggy - Peggy?"

He never liked to think back to the black despair of those endless minutes, later.

And then, finally, a twitch. He felt it in the muscles of her back beneath his hands, heard it a moment later as she feebly gagged on the water still in her throat. He swung his weight down and then released it one more time, and then leaned over her, searching again for a pulse. He found it, that time - and her throat moved a little at his touch.

Beneath him, her back rose and fell in a shallow, wet breath.

The rush of warm relief turned his elbows and knees to liquid. He only just managed to keep from collapsing as he crawled around and half-fell at her side. Dizziness blinded him for a moment - he was only just now starting to recognize the throbbing pain in his head. Peggy took another breath, and then began to cough, shaking in violent full-body spasms as her body tried to get rid of the water she'd swallowed; the water still in her lungs.

Steve patted her back gently, and kept up a soothing stream of quiet encouragement, stroking her tangled hair out of her eyes even as he mopped the blood out of his own. When he was sure she wouldn't aspirate all that she was choking up, he took a moment to run his hands down her skull, her spine, her arms, her legs, feeling for the bones. She was bruised and battered, but nothing seemed to be broken except two fingers, which he quietly straightened and then tied together with a strip torn from his own shirt. Chances were she was still too out of it to feel the pain, and he wanted to spare her whatever he could.

At last her breathing hitched, evened out. She blinked open those dark brown eyes he'd never thought he would see again, and squinted blearily up at him. Her lips moved to shape his name, but she was too weak to make a sound.

"I'm right here," he promised. Then, because she was shivering and he had nothing dry to give her, he carefully scooped her into his arms, out of the mud where she'd been lying. "Right here," he continued, settling her in a drier location before taking her unbroken hand in his. The others are coming to get us, so we'll just hold on until then, okay?"

She nodded faintly, her forehead smoothed - and then she slept.

;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;

It took the Commandos an hour to find them. At the sight of Steve's bloody hair and Peggy's white face they had stopped, aghast - but then Steve had looked up from where he’d curled around her, trying to share his body heat, and grinned at them, and they'd known it was all right.

Bucky, as it turned out, had been the one to discover them. He'd seen them on the shore from where he'd been scouring the other side of the river, and had turned, running all the way back up to their makeshift ford, where he'd dragged himself and his pack across the ropes by main force and what had to have been a superhuman effort against the still-rising water. He had then caught up with the Commandos, who were in turn searching their side of the river, and passed them in his mad dash to reach his best friend.

"Told you so," he'd retorted, punching Steve lightly in the shoulder as soon as he was sure neither Steve's life nor Peggy's was actively in danger.

"You did, Buck." Steve grimaced - Morita was just tying off the thread after stitching up the six-inch gash in his scalp, and was evidently catching a lot of hair in the process. "You did."

Peggy, having been wrapped in dry blankets and dosed with something out of Dugan's canteen, had fallen asleep again. Nothing was visible but the top of her damp head, and one ear. Everybody pretended not to notice how Steve's eyes wandered her direction every minute or so to make sure she was still breathing.

"We camping here tonight?" Gabe asked. He rubbed his shoulders - he was the only one who had thought to grab the others' packs as they fled down the river in their search for the captain and agent.

Steve looked up at the sky, and then at Monty, who obligingly checked his pocket watch. "We still have time."

The captain nodded with decision. "Let's go, then," he said. "At least let's find a better spot to spend the night."

Without comment, the men divided the load. Bucky silently picked up Steve's pack, while Monty grabbed Peggy's. Steve, on the other hand, went to his knees at Peggy's side. Very, very gently, he got her into his arms and stood, adjusting her weight against him.

"Let's move out," he ordered.

Preoccupied with walking and the persistent throbbing in his head, he missed when Peggy eventually woke. Only her soft murmur alerted him to the fact that she was awake.

"What was that?" he asked, pausing and bowing his head to hear her better.

Peggy was blinking rather dreamily. There was faint color in her lips and cheeks now, much to his satisfaction. "...did you just sweep me off my feet?" she repeated, before her voice trailed off into a sleepy mumble.

Steve grinned, and wondered just how strong the stuff was that Dugan had put in his canteen.

"I think it was the river that swept you off your feet," he corrected her. "But I caught you."

She seemed to consider his answer for a moment, and then nodded before snuggling her head against his shoulder in a move that made his heart speed up. Surely, she wouldn't remember a bit of this when she woke in the morning - but Steve stowed the sweet moment away in his heart anyway.

They had cheated death today. Hopefully they would cheat death tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, until the war was over. But either way, he planned to be there to catch her for as long as he lived.

;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple notes. PLEASE DO NOT ever get in a river even to wade if the local authorities deem it unsafe. Even the most seemingly tame river can be deadly, especially during the spring runoff or if you're in an area prone to flash floods. We lose a couple people in my area every year because they don't follow posted warnings.
> 
> If you ever are in a river, and are being swept away, some people suggest to try to float feet-first, so you can fend off the rocks that come at you. Try not to be washed up against a ledge or tree-trunk. The water sweeping under it can suck you down and get you stuck underwater. Also, don't ever dive headfirst into water if you don't know how deep it is. BAD idea, Steve.
> 
> The artificial respiration method Steve uses on Peggy is an outdated one, described in the first aid book distributed to soldiers in 1943. CPR as we know it didn't come about until 1960.
> 
> Last Steggy Week thing from me will be up soon!


	7. Surprise Us: Awakening

**Day 7 - Surprise Us: Awakening**

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He came back to consciousness slowly.

The day before, he had reacted when a doctor peeled up his eyelids and shone a light into his pupils. That evening, a baseball game played on the radio made his heartbeat quicken slightly. During the night, his eyes began moving behind their lids, and he displayed every symptom of a man who was dreaming.

Not nightmares, thankfully. Peggy wasn't sure she could have stood it if he'd had nightmares.

And now the sun was rising - and as the first rays of light filled the room, Steve Rogers' eyes very quietly opened for the first time in over a year.

The moment felt as though it ought to be accompanied by some sort of momentous music or applause, but the only sound was of the morning New York traffic driving by, far below.

Peggy held her breath. Her heart felt as though it would beat its way up into her throat and choke her. She must have made some aborted movement - or perhaps he sensed her presence, because after blinking sleepily at the ceiling for a moment, his eyebrows drew together in a vaguely puzzled expression. Then he turned his head and looked directly at her.

The lines around his eyes deepened momentarily, and then faded as his face brightened.

"Peggy."

His voice was hoarse, hardly stronger than a whisper. She tried to smile, felt as though it got mixed up with a sob at some point, and wound the whole performance up with a sort of hiccuping gulp.

"How are you feeling?" she heard herself ask, though it was the sort of question one asked a friend who had been sick;  _not_  the sort of question one asked the man who held one's heart and then had been lost and presumed dead for thirteen and a half months.

Steve frowned again, as though something was out of place. "Not bad," he said - and then stopped. He looked at her again. Then he looked around the room slowly, taking his time. When his eyes came back to hers, she could see a spark of realization, almost panic.

"I went down," he said. His eyes fluttered to her hair - longer now than it had been - and stayed there for a moment. He looked slightly ill when he swallowed hard and asked "How long have I been out?"

She told him.

It was a long story, though she tried to shorten it. At the end of it all, he nodded, looking more than a little overwhelmed. His hands shook slightly as he set down the cup of water she'd given him; she wasn't sure if was from exhaustion or shock.

"The men?" he asked quietly.

"They're fine," Peggy promised.

"And you?"

She hadn't expected that - and she had forgotten how it felt to be the sole focus of his direct, searching gaze. It warmed her, touched her somewhere at the center of her soul in a way she'd missed terribly. She tried to smile, and felt it quiver at the edges, all her walls coming down with an unexpected suddenness.

"I'm quite all right as well. Though I'm afraid you missed our dance."

She thought he would smile at that, but he didn't. Instead, he moved his head on the pillow uneasily, fingers flexing in the sheets, as though he very much wanted to hold something. If he had been stronger, she was sure he would have tried to sit up.

"I know - I know I'm late," he admitted, voice very low, breaking off every now and then as he fumbled for words. The creases around his eyes deepened, as though in pain. "You made that date with a dead man - we both knew I wasn't coming home. And it's been - a year, and things - change. If you - I mean, if…" He caught his breath, and forged on earnestly. "What I'm trying to say is that if our - if you've changed your mind, then it's okay. It's okay."

Peggy blinked at him, surprised, dismayed.

And that was when she realized that he didn't know. This was Steve Rogers, the man who'd never successfully gone dancing in his life, and who didn't want to press his claim with a girl who might have moved on. He didn't know that her heart was his for the taking - indeed, that he had already taken it so very long ago, simply by being himself.

So she leaned forward over the side of the bed and taught him, lips soft and true against his, her hand cupped lightly around the edge of his jaw.

He breathed her name when she finally broke the kiss. His eyes were closed when she drew back, but they flew open almost at once with such a look of mingled shock and adoration that she couldn't keep from dimpling.

"Um," he said, and stared at her, the color rising in his cheeks. "Um - thank you?" He sounded at a loss for what to say. "Did I miss something?"

"You did," Peggy answered, feeling heat bloom across her cheekbones. She felt almost giddy at the look in his eyes. They had wasted so much time, so nearly lost everything. "I believe you missed the part where I fell in love with you."

Steve's face went utterly blank in surprise for the briefest of moments, and then was swept with such a wave of hope and tentative joy that it made her heart beat faster. His eyes caught hers, tangling in a long, increasingly electric gaze - and then, suppressing a grunt, he fought his way up onto his elbows and pushed himself upright.

"Steve," she protested, putting her hands out to stop him, but he paid no attention to the gesture except to catch her hands in his and hold them carefully, as if he thought he might break her if he wasn't gentle enough.

"I -  _Peggy_." He was taller than her when he sat up, looking down into her face as earnestly as if the fate of the entire world rested on her lips. "Did you mean that?"

Peggy straightened her spine, but didn't try to pull her hands away. "The doctor will have my head if he catches you sitting up like this," she pointed out warningly.

"Peggy - "

"Lie down, Steve," Peggy ordered, trying to cut him off, but he wouldn't be deterred.

"You're in love with me?"

He looked so astonished, so hopeful, his feelings written as plainly across his face as if they had been inscribed with indelible ink. Peggy raised her head, glad pride thrumming through her body at the thought that she was the one to make him look like that.

"I should have thought it was obvious, Captain," she told him archly. "After all, it's not every girl who will dash off to the North Pole on the slim chance of -"

He cut her off with another kiss, so exquisite in its untaught, tender sweetness that afterwards, in the sun-lit glory of their new morning, Peggy couldn't have found words if she'd tried.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Hi. A week late, but here's my last installment for Steggy Week 2018! This has been fun. I've enjoyed giving you some of the stuff kicking around on my drive, and your reactions have been very kind. Special thanks to all my guest reviewers! I am very grateful to you, though I can't reply individually.
> 
> Thanks so much for everything! ! I'm more excited than ever to get back to my regular stories, and have some fun new ones that I can't wait to give you soon!


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